


As It Ends

by loveinamaltshop



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gen, M/M, Spoiler-y warnings in the endnotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/pseuds/loveinamaltshop
Summary: “Is it just you and me down here right now?” Patrick asks, as if Pete never asked a question, noting the number of doors in the bunker. Three. Bathroom, pantry, one that led to another door to the ladder outside.Each one was too far.Pete swallows. “Patrick.”Pete used to wish they would be the only two people in the world together. Circumstances change and some wishes shouldn't come true.





	As It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Check the end notes for spoiler-y warnings. Other than that, enjoy!

Patrick isn’t himself. He hasn’t been himself for two weeks now.

Pete can’t thumb at his bass, the only other thing in the bunker that’s really  _ his,  _ like he used to. Much less play music. They – whoever they were – did this to his best friend. They ripped the greater part of him, the thing that brought the luster to Patrick’s gold.

He was going to tear them apart, he swore to himself.

Joe and Andy had left the second the sun rose, quiet and careful and calculated, to gather more intel. Pete had snorted at the thought – they always did want their lives to be a little more like a Bond film.  _ Be careful what you wish for, _ he had thought wistfully as Patrick slept adjacent to him.

It was scary, to know you could never get your best friend back when he was right there. The hook on his hand glinted like a taunt. Pete scowled back at it.

Patrick snores softly in his sleep, and it almost feels like nothing changed. Pete turned away, his own sleeping bag rustling as he opened up his palm.

He had been doing this since he and the guys set up the bunker a week ago. He would take his finger, write words on his palm, never immortalizing them. He knew what it would entail if he did. He’d be tempted to hand them over to Patrick, to expect humming seconds later. He would only be left with a confused look and shards of Pete’s heart sticking out of his ribs. It was better to write out the madness in his brain in the tickle of his own skin, frustratingly not enough like the press of a needle etching blue-black ink on it instead. He forgets what he’s writing about halfway through.

He craved to feel again sometimes. He stares at the hook again, over his shoulder.

Pete nearly jumps when he sees Patrick staring back at him. Under the lone bulb swinging slowly above their heads, he looks sinister. His expression is soft, instead, where the light finally hits him right.

“Morning,” Patrick says, but he sounds like he isn’t sure.

Pete checks his phone – perpetually now on vibrate for safety – and it’s “Close,” he says, smiling kindly “How are you feeling?”

“I’d kill for a shower,” Patrick admits, tone light.

Pete laughs. “God, I really hope you don’t mean that.”

There’s a fraction of his smile that leaves.

“Hey,” Pete breathes hurriedly, crawling away from the top of his sleeping bag to sit beside Patrick “We’ll figure this out. Damned if we don’t.”

“Yeah,” Patrick mumbles “Kind of.”

Pete runs a hand over Patrick’s hair, sandy blonde and he was right, in definite need of a shower. It brings him to a time of vans and Xs on Patrick’s hand. He tries not to think about it too hard. 

His fingers trail over the side of his face. “I promise,” Pete tries not to stutter.

The tips of Patrick’s fingers curl over Pete’s ring and little finger. “Okay.”

Pete doesn’t have to look at where the tops of Patrick’s ears have turned red to know that he’s lying. Pete looks away, drums his fingers lightly over Patrick’s temple like he used to. It makes him feel warm on the inside.

“Are you hungry?” Pete asks. God, he hopes Patrick still had a human appetite. He doesn’t know how long their rations will last but he at least wishes Patrick is good with cold pita in the mini-fridge and maybe some luncheon meat.

“Uh-uh.” Patrick’s turning his head to Pete’s hand and  _ ah. _ That’s an odd development. His lips are ghosting over the lines of Pete’s palm, like he’s trying to read them. Like he’s trying to figure Pete out, like he hadn’t already years ago. Pete feels him breathe against the damp of his hand now, too hot. Human, at least. It’s good, comforting, in the way it hasn’t in a while. 

“You’re sure?” Pete stutters  _ now,  _ where he can see Patrick’s eyes. They’re dark. Or, they look dark because the bulb is flickering like a warning. Pete can’t remember what color they are anymore.

“Is it just you and me down here right now?” Patrick asks, as if Pete never asked a question, noting the number of doors in the bunker. Three. Bathroom, pantry, one that led to another door to the ladder outside. 

Each one was too far. 

Pete swallows. “Patrick.”

“I can hear your heart, I can hear so much now,” Patrick murmurs, the inside of his bottom lip catching at the ridge of Pete’s pulse “I think that’s something I picked up.”

Pete wants to protest. Did he seriously think this was a blessing? This was some cool superhuman thing? They’d taken his best friend, cut his fucking hand off, and messed with his brain. This was a living nightmare. Pete was all for looking at the good in the bad, but this was just fucked up.

“You’re scared.” Patrick’s tone is level, almost matter-of-fact. He’s not lying, though, not like Pete has been.

Pete wants to sob and run away. This shouldn’t be happening. Patrick shouldn’t be able to hear involuntary human functions. Patrick shouldn’t have a deadly weapon attached to his body. The entire world was a mess of  _ shouldn’ts  _ and Pete feels like the only sane man for once. 

“Pete,” Patrick says and it’s so terrifyingly gentle to Pete’s ears.

He doesn’t realize his cheeks are wet or that Patrick’s nuzzling his shaking palm. Just like Pete’s always dreamed of, but nothing in the right now of this world has ever felt real. It’s enough to throw him off, though, to close his eyes. His breath shakes and he wonders if Patrick can read his mind too, if he can listen to the poorly designed intersection where his thoughts are crashing into one another — accident after crash after collision. 

Patrick’s eyes are like a frantic stop light, numbers ticking down for him to figure his next move. They look like a stop light too, glowing gold that Pete can see them even when the bulb settled behind Patrick’s head now. He’s all shadow and bright iris.

“It’s just me, Pete,” Patrick promises, and Pete wishes he were wrong “It’s just me right now.”

The scream rips out of Pete before he can stop himself and he doesn’t know why. 

No one will hear him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Implied major character death.
> 
> It's my finals week and I still churned this out. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day! Feel free to drop by my Tumblr, @[loveinamaltshop](https://loveinamaltshop.tumblr.com/), as well! We may yell at each other in the form of lyrics or angst, your pick!


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